Band of Hobbits
by The Barrow-Wight
Summary: From Appendix A: "To the help of the king [in Norbury] [[the hobbits of the Shire] sent some archers who never returned; and others went also to the battle in which Angmar was overthrown." This is the tale of those valiant hobbits.
1. Default Chapter

**Band of Hobbits**  
**by The Barrow-Wight**  
  
Chapter 1  
The Shire Fair  
  


The community of Michel Crossing was bustling with activity. The small hobbit village lay situated at the intersection of the King's Road and Sarn Way in the West-farthing of the Shire and was usually very quiet and uninteresting, but on Midyear's Day of the year 374, Shire Reckoning, it was the center of attention of the entire Shire and a very wonderful place to be if you were a hobbit, for Michel Crossing was hosting the 52nd Shire Fair.  
  
Every seven years, in accordance with tradition established shortly after the founding of their little country, most of the hobbit folk from the Brandywine River to the Far Downs came together to celebrate their good fortune and that of the King at Norbury. Feasts were consumed, contests of skill and artistry were decided, dances were held, and many fine kegs of ale were emptied. Also, of course, important speeches were given, ancient tales were retold, and sage advice was offered by the old to the young. Hobbits of all ages unanimously had a fantastic time at the Shire Fair.   
  
Oddly, though Michel Crossing was one of the oldest settlements in the Shire, the Fair of 374 was the first ever to be held there. The Michel family was headed by the relatively young Gundab Michel (only 70 years old) and was probably the most influential hobbit clan in the West-farthing, but it still had taken a lot of political pull to get Bucca** (1)** to agree to locate the Fair so far away from the Marish. Gundab had been required to guarantee a spectacular event in order to host the celebration in his hometown, and he had lived up to his word.  
  
The townsfolk of Michel Crossing had lavishly decorated the entire length of the King's Road. Tall poles of ash had been erected every 25 feet, each adorned with red, yellow and green streamers. Between them, brightly colored tents and buildings had been constructed, some large, some small, and each housing a different delight for the senses (and stomach).   
  
Hobbits roamed happily between refreshment stalls where they enjoyed succulent roast chicken followed by thick slabs of fire-grilled steak and topped off with fresh-baked apple pie. They stopped by the brewers' tents to quench their thirst with stout South-farthing ales and hearty Marish lagers, and they visited the vintner huts to sample delicate wines from Arthedain** (2)**.   
  
Before, after, and between meals, sated hobbits wandered among the many merchant booths perusing the great variety of curiosities and wares brought from all corners of the Shire. Farmers offered fresh vegetables from the fields of the East-farthing and fruits from the groves of the South. The Ladies Club of Nobottle was selling warm, down-filled quilts, the Young Hobbits of Bywater had stylish hats and walking sticks for sale, and Barley Mulcher from Yale displayed a selection of sturdy leather boots, though most people only stared at them in curiously with buying them or even trying them on.   
  
Overall, the Fair was a hobbit's paradise, and none in attendance, not even the old-timers, could remember a better one. But eating, drinking, and shopping were not the only attractions to be enjoyed. The competitive games were also much larger and more varied than those of previous years. Beyond the rows of tents and huts, over a grassy ditch crossed by many narrow bridges of wooden planks, a large field of summer wildflowers had been mowed, marked and divided into a series of tournament event areas where contests of all sorts were scheduled throughout the day.   
  
Early in the day, young hobbits had run three-legged races and played rowdy games of football, cheered on by their excited parents to win trophies and ribbons. Afterwards, the crowds had watched distinguished judges determine the 'best of show' of a variety of barnyard creatures brought from farms across the Shire. Smiling farmers had marched proudly around the grounds leading their best animals in a stately parade of livestock. Later, between second lunch and first supper, the Whitwell Wanderers had soundly thrashed the Tighfield Ropers in a game of Bounding Ball, an odd cross between football and boxing peculiar to the West-farthing. Finally, before the sun set and the grand feast began, the most-awaited competition had begun: the archery contest.  
  
Fifteen hobbits of all ages, from lads barely in their tweens to gaffers far beyond the three-quarter mark** (3)**, stood side-by-side with their hairy toes touching a narrow stripe of yellow chalk drawn on the trampled grass of the contest field. 50 paces beyond the line were fifteen round straw bales painted with concentric circles of color: blue on the outside, then yellow, then green again, and finally a small white circle in the center. Scoring judges stood at either end of the row of targets, wisely distancing themselves until all shots had been fired.  
  
Each of the contestants carried a short hobbit bow and a quiver filled with slender wooden arrows. Most wore normal day-to-day clothing, but a few had come in costumes similar to those worn by the King's Archers. These drew a couple snickers from some of the gentlemen and molre than few smiles from some of the ladies. These hobbits wore leather jerkins covered by surcoats embroidered with their traditional family emblem.   
  
Old Jerrimal Maggot and his youngest son Merrimal, both from the deep South-farthing, wore dark brown coats emblazoned with seven white vertical lines symbolizing the fertile fields of the lower Shirebourne river valley. The diminutive Ferdinand Burra (yes, even hobbits can be considered 'short' amongst themselves) of the Scary Hills region of the East-farthing had a black jacket marked with silver and gold streaks and many colored stars that indicated the precious metals and gems he and his family excavated from the rocky cliffs in his homeland. And Bucca of the Marish himself stood proudly among the contestants in a long coat of dark burgundy decorated with elaborately woven images of silver fish and splashing blue waters. But everyone's attention was on a pair of archers that stood together near the center of the line.  
  
Borman of Bywater and Olinard Tucca were the favored contestants of the day. They were considered to be the two most excellent archers in the Shire, but that was where any similarities between the them ended. Borman stood dark-haired, tall, and muscular, a man among hobbits, nearly fifty years old and a three-time winner of the tournament. His fancy clothing and expensive bow showed the wealth of the Bywater clan, and his demeanor reflected a haughtiness toward the other contestants around him.  
  
Olinard Tucca, on the other hand, was a very different hobbit. Only 25 years old, this was his first time as a participant in the archery games, and he stood nervously avoiding the smiling glances and friendly cheers of the spectators. Like many of the other archers in the contest, he wore his family colors (three green arcs representing the Green Hills of his homeland), but his frayed clothing and worn, hand-made bow and arrows belied the financial difficulties the Tucca clan still suffered so long after the last Plague. The Green Hills had been hit the hardest by the disease, and some families had not survived at all, but Olinard's clan was finally, very slowly, coming back toward its former social prominence, and this tournament was a great opportunity for him and his kin.  
  
Despite their differences, both hobbits were known to be expert shots with their bows, and most of the spectators had gathered in a great knot behind them to get the best view of their shots. They watched in impatience as Grolly Whittelwell, the Chief Judge-in-Charge and first-cousin of Gundab Michel, slowly walked the line checking the gear of each contestant and chatting briefly with those he was familiar with (which was most of them). At last, he finished his inspection and made his way to a tall wooden podium at the end of the line. He cleared his throat with a long pull on his ale mug and shouted at the top of his very loud voice.  
  
"Hobbit archers, draw… your… bows!"  
  
The crowd cheered wildly as the contestants each pulled a slender arrow from his quiver, notched it to the line, and pulled it back in readiness to fire. Grolly looked around with a broad grin, hesitated a moment for dramatic effect, and finally yelled out.  
  
"Release!"  
  
Fifteen bows sang out, and fifteen arrows shot across the field to thump into their targets. The scoring judges rushed frantically to check the scores, and the crowd roared as both Olinard and Borman received white flags to indicate they had struck the target center. The young Tucca smiled broadly and seemed to relax a little, but Borman pretended to not be affected by the excitement. Several other shooters received green or yellow flags, but Bucca was very disappointed to have gotten the only blue flag. The contingent from the Marish seemed quite embarrassed that their leader had only hit the outermost ring on his target.  
  
"Draw… your… bows!"  
  
"Release!"  
  
Again, fifteen arrows whistled towards the painted hay bales, and the scorers raced back and forth among the targets. Borman and Olinard, and Ferdinand of Scary, too, each received a white flag, but Denni Bushey, the local favorite, blushed brightly when he was awarded a red flag to show he'd missed the target altogether. The Marish crowd breathed a sigh of release that their hobbit had managed a respectable green flag.  
  
"Draw… your… bows!"  
  
"Release!"  
  
The third round of arrows shot out, and a fourth, and a fifth, and flags were awarded accordingly until finally the archers stepped back from the line and waited for the Official Scorer to run up from the targets. He soon did, writing down his final tallies as he trotted up and climbed the podium to confer quietly with the Chief Judge-in-Charge. After much whispering and several drinks, the First Round winners were finally announced.   
  
"The First Round is over," began Grolly, " and everyone has done a tremendous job. Let's give them all a hand!"  
  
The gathered hobbits cheered loudly and the applause took some time to die down until the Chief Judge-in-Charge could continue.  
  
"The hobbits to continue to the Second Round, with perfect scores, are Borman of Bywater and Olinard Tucca. Also moving forward, with two out of three center shots, Ferdinand Burra, Merrimal Maggot, and Cramer Tunnely. Congratulations!"  
  
Everyone again cheered wildly and celebrated with great toasts to each other and the winners. The disappointed losers marched away but quickly forgot the sorrow of their loss at the nearest beer tent. Meanwhile, a team of several young hobbits worked in a frenzy to remove all but one target, which they dragged a further 25 paces back from the line. The winner of the next round would win the entire contest, but they would have to do it from a much greater distance.  
  
The five remaining archers moved toward the center of the line and aligned themselves with the target. Olinard was still grinning cheerfully, and Borman continued to feign indifference, but Cramer Tunnely couldn't stop jumping up and down and yelling back and forth with his large group of family and friends in the crowd. He really hadn't expected to progress to the second round, and the excitement of it was almost more than he could contain. The Chief Judge-in-Charge had to remind him twice to quiet down so they could begin the next round.  
  
Finally, he shouted, "Draw… your… bows!"   
  
"Release!"  
  
Arrows flew, but this time there was only one scoring judge. The Second Round of the archery tournament was scored very differently than the first. Rather than accumulate scores over several shots, contestants were only allowed to continue based on their shot compared to others. The person who's arrow was furthest from the center was immediately eliminated, and in the case of a tie, both archers would be removed unless the contest was down to the final two shooters.   
  
The scorer raised a hand and shouted, "First out, Ferdinand Burra!"  
  
The small hobbit groaned and hung his head as he trudged away into the crowd. His friends ran up to congratulate him on such a good finish, but he seemed almost ready to cry. He stopped finally, and turned to watch the four remaining contestants.  
  
"Draw… your… bows! Release!"  
  
This time it was Cramer Tunnely who had to withdraw.  
  
"Draw… your… bows! Release!"  
  
Merrimal Maggot walked away dejectedly and joined Cramer and Ferdinand in the crowd. Their voice soon joined in the clamor as the entire mass of hobbits began to chant at the top of their lungs.  
  
"Borman…. Olinar…. Borman…. Olinard…."  
  
Their voice continued to rise as the last two contestants prepared to take their shots. Everyone had been expected that Borman and Olinard would be the final archers in the contest, but it was still incredibly exciting. The next shot would be the deciding one. The arrow closest to the center would belong to the victor. And though most hobbits are not gamblers by nature, many of them nevertheless began trading odds of who would win, and Borman seemed favored 3 to 2.  
  
The Chief Judge raised his mug and, together with the entire gathering, shouted the now-familiar phrase.  
  
"Draw… your… bows!"  
  
The crowd went absolutely silent as the two archer brought their arrows to the ready, peering down an invisible line that led to the white circle of the one remaining target 75 paces away.   
  
"Fire!"  
  
Their two slender wooden shafts converged simultaneously on the small central circle of the target. Each thumped into the hay with a noise barely audible from such a distance. The arrows quivered where they had struck and the scoring judge ran forward before the gathered hobbits could see who had won.  
  
"Borman is the victor!" shouted an old hobbit over his foaming tankard. "I could see it plain as the whiskers on my dog."  
  
"Then your dog must be bald," yelled another gaffer near him, "Olinard's arrow was clearly in the center. And there's not a way you could of seen the arrows with your nose so deep in your mug, Dorinand Grubb!"  
  
"Aye, my nose might have been in my ale, but my eye was on the target."  
  
Carmic of Bywater raised his voice and said, "Grubb is right! Borman's arrow was the one in the center!"  
  
"A likely story from his own cousin," came a voice from the crowd.  
  
"Who's that calling me a liar?" asked Carmic looking into the crowd for his accuser.  
  
Hobbits began to push and shove as the insults got uglier and the crowd began to square off for a contest of its own. But Grolly Whittelwell put an end to it from his podium when he finally shouted for attention. Suddenly, the crowd fell silent again and all attention turned to the Chief Scorer who was approaching from the distant targets. Everyone could now see tat the two arrow were so close to one another that it was impossible to tell who had won from so far away. They waited as he climbed the podium and whispered the result to the Chief Judge.  
  
"Dear hobbits," began Grolly, "every seven years we come together to hold this grand tournament of archery to determine who among us is the greatest with the bow and arrow. And every seven years we…"  
  
"Just tell us who won!" shouted someone from the crowd who was soon joined by the rest of the anxious hobbits who demanded that the speech-making end and the results-telling begin.  
  
"… as I was saying," continued Grolly, "By a margin of less than the width of an arrow shaft, the winner of the Archery Contest of the Shire Fair of 374 is Olinard Tucca!"  
  
  
**FOOTNOTES:**  
(1) Bucca of the Marish was the leading political figure in the Shire and would become the first Thain in 379 S.R.  
(2) Arthedain was the Kingdom of Men northeast of the Shire to whom the hobbits still loosely held allegiance.   
(3) The three-quarter mark was the hobbit term for 75 years old.   
  



	2. Chapter 2 - The Shire's Need

**Band of Hobbits**  
By The Barrow-Wight

Chapter 2 - The Shire's Need

"Three cheers for Olinard Tucca! Hoorah! Hoorah! Hoorah"

     The winner of the Shire Fair Archery Tournament stood grinning atop a huge table at the center of the great Feast Tent just east of the Tournament Field. He was surrounded by more than a hundred celebrating hobbits who were all cheering wildly at his recent victory. Many stood clashing their mugs together or waving their hands in the air, and several youngsters had even formed a hand-in-hand chain and were dancing in and out of the tent poles. Closest to the table, the gathered Tucca clan members shouted the loudest.

     Olinard himself stood quietly looking around the tent as he waited for the commotion to die down. His first place medal hung around his neck and reflected the light of the scores of lamps that had been lit against the quickly approaching nightfall. His bow and arrows, each recovered and tied with a bright red ribbon, hung at his back. Below him, his father and mother looked up proudly, and the entire lot of his brothers and sisters (three of the former and four of the latter) was also applauding. His grandfather, Erlinard Tucca, raised himself slowly from the bench and, with the aid of Olinard's outstretched hand, climbed up onto the table and motioned for the crowd to quiet down.   It took a while, but at last he could be heard over the din.

"My dear grandson," he began, addressing Olinard directly but speaking loudly enough that most of the hobbits in the Tent could hear him. "Congratulations…"

     The crowd cut him off with another cheer, but he waved them quickly to silence.

     "My dear Olinard," he continued with tears welling up in his eyes, "we are all so very proud of your accomplishments today. It has been far too long since a Tucca stood on the victor's podium at the Shire Fair, and seeing you there was a fantastic and wonderful sight. Thank you!"

     The old hobbit embraced his grandson and grabbed his right hand, holding it high in the air. The crowd again burst out with enthusiastic applause and whistles. Finally, they allowed Olinard to speak for a moment.

     "Thank you, everyone. Thank you" he said, and the noise rose again. He was obviously not confortable speaking to such a large group, and it it looked like he might jump from the table and flee the tent at any moment. His oldest brother Erlin jumped up and handed him a full mug, sloshing it on most of the people below. Olinard took the offered drink and downed most of it in a single, long swallow that caused the hobbits to cheer even louder. Smiling and wiping his mouth, he continued.

     "It was mostly luck that I won the tournament today, but I really appreciate the great support you have all shown me. As my grandfather said, the Tuccas haven't worn the Medal for a long, long time, and I am very proud to have represented our clan today. Thank you very much."

     He stepped down quickly from the table and the crowd gave three more "Hoorahs".  Finally, they began to settle down to properly enjoy the Feast before them, and Olinard was able to give his attention to his own meal. 

     "It wasn't luck that you won, Oli," said Erlin, looking up from his plate. "You were plainly the better archer."

     "Aye," said the elderly Erlinard, "And the better hobbit. If that Borman would spend less time posing and more time aiming he might have been better competition for you."

     Olinard smiled at his grandfather. "Oh Granda', you know Borman is the best archer in the Shire. And he has seen a bit of fighting, too, or so I've heard. I've not shot at anything more than a hare or hart, and none of those shoot back.

     Erlinard looked across the tent to where Borman stood deeep in conversation with Captain Grounds of the Militia.

     "Ha! Likely you heard that from him," he scowled. "There isn't a thing Borman ever shot at that ever fired back at him. The Bounds**[1]** away north are where you'd be likely to find something a bit more dangerous than a rabbit, but it's the last place you'd find him. Instead, he'll be sitting in a pub somewhere talking about it. It's other hobbits that do the dirty work."

He turned and pointed in the other direction.

"Now, little Ferdi Burra is a hobbit who has seen more trouble than that windbag from Bywater could ever imagine, and he isn't even in his tweens yet."

They looked to where Ferdinand Burra sat talking animatedly with Cramer Tunnely. He seemed to be describing something quite exciting, because everyone around him was thoroughly engrossed with his tale. He suddenly noticed the Tuccas watching him, and he gave them a friendly smile and a wave. 

"I had heard that Ferdi had joined the Militia," said Erlin, "but I hadn't realized that there was trouble along the Bounds."

"Aye, there's trouble alright," said Erlinard, "and its been getting worse from what I hear."

Olinard looked over to where the small hobbit was telling his story. For a long time now, there had been tales of problems on the Bounds, but there had never been any details and never any first-hand accounts. If Ferdinand had actually been involved in happenings along the border, he would be the perfect person to talk to to get more information.

"I'll be back in a while," he said, standing. "If he's the one with experience of such things, I'm going to see what Ferdinand is talking about. Excuse me Granda'"

He stood and walked quickly through the thick crowd, but only made it halfway to his target when he was intercepted by Bucca of the Marish whoshook his hand vigorously and congratulated him again for his victory.

"Wonderful, wonderful shooting" he told the young Tucca. "I used to shoot like that, too, in my youth, of course. But, still, I didn't fare to poorly at all today, did I?"

He waited for Olinard to praise his performance, but when the young hobbit failed to comment, Bucca began talking again.

"Yes, indeed. Wonderful shooting. So good, in fact, that I wanted to speak to you about something very important."

"Sir?" Olinard's attention turned from Ferdinand to the hobbit before him. "Very important?"

"Yes. Very. The Militia is considering increasing its ranks, and I was wondering if you had ever considered public service?"

"Public service, sir?" Most hobbits considered the Militia as a kind of sporting club. Even with the hints of danger his grandfather had just given him, Olinard had never thought of the Milita as a 'service' of any kind.

"Yes, a public service," said Bucca. "The hobbits of the Militia serve the interests of the entire Shire and provide a variety of other services to hobbits everywhere. And the Shire is in need."

"But why are more hobbits needed?"

"Why?" Bucca looked at him curiously. "Why, to protect the Shire, of course. Recent events have convinced me that our borders are far too open. We need to control who and what is passing into our land. Just last month there was a wolf in the fields of Yale, and just last week a few farms north of Scary were robbed.  Can you believe it? There is trouble afoot, and we are determined to head it off before it gets out of control here."

"What of the King's Men? Are they no longer on the Bounds?"

"We don't know, or at least we're not sure. But we do know that Arthedain is having troubles of some kind. News seldom comes from Norbury**[2]** any more, and the last solid information we heard from them was many months ago, and that was simply a request for more grain and foodstuffs. I fear there is war on the far side of that kingdom. And if there is war, there will be strangers passing into the Shire. We must beware."

Olinard looked into Bucca's face and saw something there he had never thought he might see – fear. There was more that the old hobbit wasn't saying, that was for sure. 

"I will seriously consider the Militia," he said. "But I must first speak with my father."

"Of course. But think fast. We are mustering a new unit by the end of the month. Good evening."

Bucca walked away leaving Olinard feel as if he'd just been let in on a big secret. The look in Bucca's face had left him with a strange feeling in his stomach. Something big was about to happen, and is he wasn't careful he was going to get swept up in it. He considered going back immediately to speak with his father, but at that moment Ferdinand called to him and motioned for him to join him at his table.

"Olinard, great shooting today!" the friendly hobbit shook his hand and invited him to sit at his table. Another hobbit offered him a mug of ale.

"Ferdi was just telling us about the dead goblin they found last week."

Olinard looked at Ferdinand incredulously. "A dead goblin?"

The small hobbit nodded his head vigorously. 

"Yes. A dead goblin. We were patrolling just south of the Great Bridge, walking among the thick reeds that grow along the Brandywine there, when Ned Tunelly, Cramer's cousin, came running down the path shouting that he'd spotted a body in the water. He said it was too big to be a hobbit, so we assumed it must be a Man, but when we investigated it closer we could see it was not human.

"It stank terribly. But I suppose anything that had been dead that long would have smelled, for I could tell it had been there a while because it was already rotting."

"Ewww," cried Lilliot Burrow, a petite blonde hobbit lass who sat next to Ferdinand. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled herself close. "What did it look like?"

"Yes, how did you know it was a goblin?" asked Cramer.

"I didn't," admitted Ferdinand, "at least not right away, but as I said it was too big to be a hobbit and too short to be a Man. It was lying face-down in the shallow water, and it was wearing a set of rough leather armor. But it was obvious it was no longer alive because it had three long white arrows sticking out of its back."

"It had been shot?" asked Cramer?

"By who?" asked Olinard.

"Not by us, that's for sure," answered Ferdinand. The arrows were Man-made, and Captain Grounds told us they were from the King's Archers."

"What did its face look like?" asked Lilliot, looking into Ferdinand's eyes and holding onto him tighter. "Was it hideous?"

Ferdinand shuddered. "Yes. It was terrible, like the head of a beast on the body of a crooked Man. Long teeth, fangs really, and huge bulging eyes. It had straggly hair hanging off of an oddly shaped skull, and its huge ears stuck out of its helmet. It was so horrible I don't know what I would have done if it was still living."

"Shot it between the eyes, Ill wager." Said Olinard, drawing back and releasing an imaginary bow.

"Maybe," said Ferdinand quietly, "but it truly was a frightening sight. I'd never seen a goblin before, but Captain Grounds had. He recognized it right away and told us to not touch it."

"Why not?" asked Cramer. "Perhaps it had something of value on it."

"No. Not a goblin. The captain said the only thing it was likely to have on it were fleas.

"Did the captain say what a goblin was doing floating at the edge of Yale?" asked Olinard.

Ferdinand shrugged his shoulders. "Captain Grounds said it probably had floated there. According to him, the King's Archers had been sighted north of Girt Island only a week before, though the hobbits that had scouted them had kept undercover. The Men had been pursuing something the scout had not seen, but it might have been the goblin we found."

"I didn't know there were goblins in the Shire" whispered Lelliot.

"There normally aren't," said Ferdinand "not for more than a hundred years according to my gaffer. "

"And your gaffer is right,"  said a deep voice from behind Olinard.

Everyone turned to see Paulman Grounds, Captain of the Militia. Ferdinand stood and offered his seat to him.

"No, no, Mr. Burra. No need for that. We are at a party young man, but I wonder if I might have a moment of your time. And yours, too Mr. Tucca and Mr. Tunnelly."

He motioned for the three hobbits to follow him as he led them outside the Feast tent and onto the dark archery field.

"You are correct about there being no goblins in the Shire for more than a century, but things are changing.  The dead one we found in Yale was only one of several that were tracked into the Shire by the King's Men in recent weeks. According to my contact with the Arthedainean's, they have seen more and more goblins in the last year, especially south of Bree."

"You've talked with the Arthedaineans?" asked Cramer with wide eyes.

"Of course," answered the Captain gruffly. "How else can we know what's beyond our lands, lad? The folk of that kingdom have long protected us, though most of us have long forgotten it. Without their strength to the north we might have long ago been overrun by other, less friendly people, or worse, if the increase in goblins is any kind of sign. But it's Men that threaten the King's Peace. Arthedain is at war."

"War?" the three hobbits said together in surprise.

"Yes, war. Actually, they have been fighting for years, centuries really, since even before we crossed the Brandwine, but now something has changed.  The King still controls the north, but just barely, and the south is no longer a safe avenue of flight. If the war continues to get bigger, as I suspect it will, we will begin to see more than a dead goblin or two. From what I've been told, we may soon be seeing the East Road clogged with refugees."

"Is it really so bad?" asked Olinard.

"Not yet, but it will get worse before it gets better. We hobbits have to be prepared. That's why I called you three out here."

He put an arm on Ferdinand's shoulder.

"Ferdinand here has already distinguished himself as a fine member of our Militia, but he can't do it all by himself. Altogether, the entire force is only 50 hobbits, not near enough to effectively patrol even a tenth of out border. Bucca has agreed to support the immediate activation of a second Militia, and we are looking for volunteers for a separate Archer Squad."

Captain Grounds looked at Olinard. "I believe he has already spoke to you about this."

"Yes, sir, he has, briefly. But I told him I'd still needed to discuss it with my father.

"Right. Right. I'm sure you dad will support such and idea."

He turned to Cramer. "And you? What do you think of the idea?"

Cramer grinned and said simply, "I'm in."

The Captain turned back to Olinard.

"Why don't you go inside and see what your dad says. I'll be at the Feast most of the evening, so just look for me once you've made a decision."

"Yes, sir" said Olinar. 

Not really sure what to do, he turned and walked back toward the tent. He could hear the voices of the happy hobbits inside, and he yearned to be with them. But the weight of what he had learned left him with a heavy feeling in his heart. All of his friends, all of his family, were laughing and singing in the tent, but he no longer felt like celebrating. Instead, he walked past the tent and out into the quiet field beyond it.

Alone in the darkness, he pondered the important things in his life. Though his family had suffered in generations past, it now stood again proudly and its members prospered and lived happily in the western reaches of the Green Hills, surrounded by a strong community of friends and neighbors. He thought of the many other hobbits clans and realized that they formed a kind of extended family. He thought of his brothers and sisters and the good times they had shared over the years. All of these things came to his mind, and it frightened him to think that their comfortable lives were now threatened.

A burst of laughter from inside the Feast Tent brought him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see a dark sharp approaching, silhouetted in the lights of the celebration. It stopped beside him and he made out the familiar face of his father.

The elder hobbits spoke, "Bucca told me he had spoken to you, and Captain Grounds told me where I might find you. I understand you've been asked to volunteer."

"Yes, sir. I have. Though I'm not sure what to do."

"I recommend you follow your heart. What does it tell you?"

Olinard looked to the tent and listened a moment to the cheerful hobbits inside.

"It says that this, all of this, is worth fighting for, if that's what it comes to." He waved his hand to show he meant more than just the Tent of the Fair. "The entire Shire is in need, and I feel that I have an obligation to defend it. But what about you, and mother? I have an obligation to the family as well."

His father smiled and said, "The family is strong again, son, strong as its ever been, and it will always be here for you. So, if you decide to join the Militia, you can be sure that we'll be proud of you. Your mother as well."

"Thanks, dad. Let me think a bit more and I'll come back to the Tent soon."

"Okay, son." His father walked back into the light of the Feast.

Olinard walked quickly to the Archery Field, but it was empty. Away across the ditch he noticed that one of the brewer's booths was still open and Captain Grounds, Ferdinand and Cramer were having a drink. He walked across one of the narrow wooden bridges and approached the trio at the bar. The Captain turned and raised his glass to Olinard.

"Well, Mr. Tucca, have you made a decision?"

"I have. I will join."

The brewer slid a mug to Olinard and together the four hobbits raised a toast.

"To the Archers of the Shire!"

  


* * *

[1] The Bounds were what the hobbits called the borders of the Shire.

[2] Norbury was what hobbits called Fornost, the capital city of Arthedain.


End file.
